Don't Ever Think About Death
by FutureMagicLab
Summary: It's the night after Azula's eighth birthday. There's still something she wants.


_This story is cross-posted here from AO3 where it was an exchange gift for purimgifts 2015. It is the first of three parts of a series entitled 'Bloodlust.' It is set something like a year before "Zuko Alone" as a possible thing that happened. If you want to see an image made to accompany it, you may view it in its original format on AO3. My AO3 is linked from my profile! Reading and feedback are appreciated._

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The scabbard is twice the length of her hand. Azula turns it between searching fingertips, watching the glint of golden inlay leading to a design of glittering topaz, the colors of open flame. She holds it beneath the glow of a sconce above her head, the lengthened shape of her tiny frame dark in the narrow hallway. She tugs and there is a gasping hiss as the scabbard comes away from the handle, just enough to reveal the sharp little blade, absolutely full of lethal potential.

Through the door, Azula's footsteps fall quietly as she approaches the high spires that adorn the corners of her brother's bed. He is ten years old, and as of yesterday, she is eight. And she still has one single birthday wish. The dull sound of pressure as her knee touches down and she pulls herself up is the first thing that seems to stir him.

"Oh, Zuzu you'd be dead if I wanted you to be," she comments softly.

"What do you want, Azula?" His voice is a groggy, weak little growl.

She answers with that beautiful metallic hiss of the blade, just a little more of it now.

Her brother is a very tightly postured ball at the head of his bed. She doesn't have to look up to see. She softens her hand and offers the blade.

"Here," she says when he doesn't reach out to take it.

"Where did you get it?" he asks, suspicious.

"I just want you to show me, big brother," she says, voice tinged with honey. _Trust me_, she says with her eyes. She sees the exact moment when it works. Her fingers find and grasp his shirt, tugging him as she slips onto her feet.

"Where are we going?" he asks, but he's coming whether he gets an answer or not.

"Out into the courtyard. No one will know," she promises. "Now take it." She pushes the ornate scabbard against Zuko's chest until he reaches up to stop the pressure.

In the Fire Nation, even the night air tastes of warmth and Azula sucks it in as the two of them make their way out onto the grass by the fountain and great, old tree. She lifts her fingers toward the sky and pitches her weight forward. She springs from her hands and the wobble of uncertainty against the earth shifts her into a tighter roll. The long strings of tension running from her little fingers all the way to her straight waist ache but she can feel a little more control in them.

Fairly certain it looks like she meant to do that, she gets up and dusts off her clothes.

"Take out the blade."

"Wh—"

"Take it out, and try to fight me," Azula orders, advancing on Zuko. She stands on her tiptoes, but the hard patina of her eyes demands attention.

His hand grips the scabbard. He pulls it off and drops it at arm's length. He'd made no time to admire the craftsmanship of the gold and precious stones, but he seems to have it for the blade.

"Well?"

"No," Zuko says. He's got the knife, but he steps back from her as if she's the dangerous one. She sees fear. "It's real. I'll hurt you."

"Spare me," she snaps. "Don't worry, I want you to win," she teases. Inspiration strikes. Her open palm flies for Zuko's face, catching his cheek and leaving it berry flushed. She reaches for Zuko's wrist, to force his hand or take it or to make him fight. Glaring at him, she seethes. "I'll do it again."

She sees the glint of bared teeth, hears the frustrated, grumbling outrage before she feels the impact to her chest. He shoves her back. She claws at him.

"The knife!"

When he still rebels, she tries fire. Zuko's skin shines with sweat, eyes with rage. She's won. Even though Azula's breathing quickens, it remains steady, one in for every out. Escalation is what she's after, and she gets it by blow and scratch and licking flame. Finally, he looms and gives chase.

She is still in control as they approach the short wall that holds the fountain pool.

She loses her root with the ground only to a tree root snaking out and catching behind her ankle. She falls backward, lungs full of air and then pressed free of it in a feeble cough. The back of her head is wet. It could so easily have been blood, but it's water seeping into her hair.

Her brother kneels over her, and she feels the cool touch of metal to her skin, holding up her chin. He thinks this is his victory. He never sees. Slowly, she lifts her head enough to meet his eyes. He allows it.

"Is this what you wanted?!" he demands, furious.

She reaches between them and pries the dagger from his hand, blade harmlessly flattened against her skin.

"Go to bed," she says indifferently. The confusion in his eyes is wholly unremarkable as they part ways. She collects the scabbard and returns to her bedchamber.

Mai sleeps like the dead as Azula passes, crawling in beside Ty Lee. A little mewl makes her cover her mouth with a flattened hand. The shriek that comes with the wide, brown eyes looking up at her is muffled enough to keep them alone.

"Ssshh," she insists as she lets go.

"What—"

The scabbard presses into Azula's shin as the knife presses against the soft hollow of Ty Lee's throat. Confusion is followed by a flood of tears too afraid to fall.

"Azula, _please—_"

A little slide of the metal, another shrill breath – it's all she needs. She hides the filled scabbard beneath the pillow and lies on her back, feeling Ty Lee try and even out her breath.

"Thank you," she says, not expecting an answer. She swallows tightly. "I think that's the first time I've ever been scared of anything."


End file.
